


The Rainbow Shell

by orchid314



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Ficlet, John Watson’s Birthday, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-03 20:30:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17290877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchid314/pseuds/orchid314





	The Rainbow Shell

He opened the door to their bedroom, unwilling yet to release her from his arms. The two of them were tipsy, agreeably so, from the Champagne and the grappa they had drunk at dinner. The Powells had hosted a magnificent feast for him, too extravagant by half for a man who had now crossed the threshold of his forties.

"Why does Alice always leave so many lamps lit in this house?" Watson grumbled, but affection overflowed in his voice.

"Darling, you know how I don't like to walk into a darkened room." Mary nestled herself closer against his waistcoat and traced one gloved finger along the line of his jaw. "Did it feel special, your day? My beloved's birthday." Her eyes shone up at him and the heady scent of carnation radiated from the base of her throat. The world had acquired a sheen that made the surfaces of wooden bedposts and brass doorknobs glow round and mysterious.

"The very best day," Watson said, remaining where he stood as his wife stepped into the room. He leaned against the door jamb, admiring the way she removed her long kid gloves. They were the same colour as the label on the superb bottle of Pommery they had savoured that evening. Or of old bones resting in the sun. Or the breast of a collared dove.

Watson laughed to himself at his own fancifulness.

"What are you laughing at?" Mary asked. She cast him a teasing look in the reflection of the looking glass that sat atop the chest of drawers, her guinea-gold hair beginning to tumble from its pins. A corresponding desire filled Watson's body and he tripped as he made his way towards her.

Mary gave him the hint of a private smile as she walked into their dressing room, and began chatting while she disrobed. Watson thought the sounds of her voice quite pleasant. He hummed in response without minding her exact words. He stood just as Mary had done, unhooking his cufflinks with an automatic touch and dropping them into the dish of ormer shell where they belonged.

The low lamplight warmed the shell's curves of iridescent alabaster and silver blue and a pink like that of an inner thigh freshly pinched. Ahem. Watson coughed to cover his indiscreet thought and his anticipation of what the evening still promised.

His eyes alighted on a second pair of cufflinks in the dish of shell. The square and sober pair Holmes had lent him once, never asking for their return. He wasn't sure why he kept them still. As talismans perhaps. Or as tokens for keeping the dead nearby during the small observances of daily life in its rush onward.

The warmth of the wine deserted Watson and he pressed his hands against the edge of the chest of drawers to steady himself or possibly to hold back the dull resentment that stirred within his breast. Enough, he vowed. Enough! Would he ever know unalloyed joy again? Must every moment be tinctured with this awful remembrance?

Before Watson could stop himself, he had scooped up the shell and its contents. He watched as they scattered across the floorboards.

"What is it?" Mary called from the next room. "Did something break, my dear?"

"Nothing that can't be repaired," he hastened to reassure her. But he knew even as he said the words, in fact he was almost certain, that he spoke a lie or something very nearly like it.


End file.
